


Broken Glass: Part Five – Cuts

by motsureru



Series: Broken Glass [5]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Awkwardness, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Law Enforcement, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-26
Updated: 2007-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything. A continuation after Season 1, Sylar/Mohinder-centric</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Glass: Part Five – Cuts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [hugh](http://hugh.livejournal.com/) for beta work~ ****

**Teaser:** _“We’re not standing so far apart in this world. So use me. I want you to.”_

  
  


.5 Cuts

 

Cuts from broken glass are the worst kind of torture. The most gratifying, agonizing kind. So easy to clean away, so simple to pick up the shards, but like the cracks that preceded them, you hardly know that they’re there. And once you realize that the sliver of glass begot a sliver of blood, it’s already too late. You want the cut to heal, but you also like to know that it’s there. You poke and prod unconsciously at it to remind yourself that it hurts, thumb tugging at the skin and the ridges of your fingertip rubbing slowly over the unsettled peel of skin. It hurts, but it’s so satisfying.

 

 

            “This isn’t a game, Sylar. What makes you think I would make a deal with you? If anything you-”

            “You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Mohinder was interrupted, Sylar’s eyes on him steady and unrelenting. Mohinder drew in a breath, leaning back. His body language spoke of how offended he was, but he said nothing more. It irritated him how easily Sylar made him feel like a fool. As if all the ways he had defeated Mohinder before had not been shameful enough, Sylar had the verbal advantage too. He knew it. And he enjoyed it. Mohinder’s passion for justice seemed all together too easy to manipulate.

            “As I was saying, why don’t we make a deal,” Sylar began again, tilting his head a little to the side as he watched Mohinder. He folded his fingers together and rested them over his injured stomach like a man making a business proposition at his desk to a client. “You seem to have some ridiculous fascination with the idea that I can be as good as you. As moral. And nice as it would be to put on a cape and save the world, I just don’t see myself walking out of here- literally- and being a hero. I don’t think either of us sees it that way.”

            Mohinder’s slight frown only deepened. “…And so?”

            “And so you don’t expect me to actually be able to get by like this, do you?” Sylar asked, unthreading his fingers and motioning to his useless legs. “How am I supposed to get some- some grand sympathy for all of human kind when _your_ so called ‘heroes’ stabbed me through the spine and put me here!” The words came out more viciously at the end than perhaps they were intended to, and Sylar’s lips fell tightly together. Holding back.

            The scientist nearly winced at that wording. It preyed on the subtle doubts he had held that night. If Sylar thought he was going to destroy the world and didn’t want to, why would he have gone to see Peter in the first place? Why did he even call…?

 

            _“Turns out you’re the villain, Peter. I’m the hero.”_

 

            Exactly what had Sylar planned then? When he said that, was it smirking lust for the kill, or was it the act of an anti-hero, ready to do the wrong thing for the right reasons? Mohinder mentally reeled merely thinking it.

            “Just what are you suggesting…?”

            Sylar took in a measured breath and let his eyes move away from Mohinder, down at his legs instead. Soon they gazed vacantly past them into some other realm all together. “I suggest we help each other. If you’re so keenon teaching me what it is to be a part of humanity, then teach me. I can’t exactly go get food on my own, or take care of myself in this condition, and you can’t rest not knowing where I am.”

            Mohinder’s jaw dropped. Sylar never ceased to leave him bewildered by his enemy’s incomprehensible thought process. “You want me to _babysit_ you? _You?_ ”

            Sylar rolled his eyes and looked back at the man. “Oh _come **on.**_ Get over it, Mohinder! You were perfectly happy babysitting Zane Taylor. He was as much a killer as me.”

            “This is bigger than Zane Taylor! You killed my father!” Mohinder stammered out, feeling his face growing warm at the man’s name. At Sylar’s recognition of his weakness.

            “You know, some psychologists would call this obsession a twisted Electra complex.”

            This time Mohinder growled and moved forward suddenly, knocking Sylar back against the bed by his shoulders and gripping them tightly. His eyes were alight once more with the fire of revenge Sylar had so secretly reveled in, so obviously kindled. Those hands jumped quickly to the man’s neck and began to wring it. “ _I could kill you right now you sick, twiste-_ ”

            His words were cut off by a sudden pressure on his throat- a tightening like a vice as powerful as his own grasp on the killer before him.  But Mohinder felt no warm flesh behind it; the force of Sylar’s mind now reminded Mohinder that his paralysis was only physical. He was still just as dangerous. _If I’m going to die…_ Mohinder thought, fingers digging roughly into the flesh of Sylar’s throat in return as he leaned over the man, trembling for breath.

            Sylar’s face looked strained too, and he watched Mohinder quiver with intensely engrossed eyes as beads of sweat threatened on the sides of his face. “ _It doesn’t have to be like this, Mohinder. I’m offering you a stand still!_ ” he breathed out, his mental grip slowly bringing the man’s body forward to his own. Mohinder was making soft choking noises now, expression slipping further and further into panic when their eyes were merely inches apart. “You don’t turn me in… you help me… and I’ll give you as much DNA as you want. I won’t kill on your watch. _You can start over._ The list. Your research. You _need me._ I’m special. I’m Patient Zero,” Sylar whispered gruffly.

            Mohinder’s heart was beating wildly. Slowly, he felt the unseen hold that had seized him peeling away, finger by unseen finger. Gasping reflexively while his skin rebounded and trying his best not to cough hoarsely, Mohinder bowed his head slightly. “ _Y-You… you’d steal it… the research… the list… How could I possibly trust you?_ ” he managed, fingers easing on Sylar’s neck. As he caught his breath, an ebony curl spilled over and brushed against his enemy’s forehead.

            “Isn’t that what being human is all about? Trust?” Sylar countered.

            “I did trust you… I trusted Zane. I gave him all my trust and you created him on a lie. You aren’t the man I thought you were.” The way Mohinder spoke the words was an accusation- some embittered, wounded feeling he had struggled with for so many nights. A struggle that amounted to nothing but an empty longing for something that was never really there.

Sylar’s gaze seemed to grow colder, but Mohinder wasn’t meeting it to realize that. “And what about you? This isn’t the Mohinder I traveled with. That Mohinder knew compassion. That Mohinder knew how to smile. Were you lying too?”

“I-… that’s different, Sylar.”

“If you could tell me why all liars shouldn’t lie in the same bed together, then maybe I would understand, Mohinder. Otherwise we’re side by side again in the end, don’t you think? We’re not standing so far apart in this world. So use me. I want you to,” he exhaled soberly.

Mohinder’s eyes lingered in awe on Sylar’s, lips drawn apart. The depth of those words and the look that accompanied them left him nothing short of mesmerized by the seduction of possibility. Starting over… Sylar was placing little cuts in his hatred, bleeding it out slowly, trying to kill it.

Sylar’s breath tickled Mohinder’s face as he thought, and the realization of their closeness suddenly set Mohinder on edge, made his pulse quicken in memory of lost chances with a dead man. His gaze hovered uneasily down, in the direction of lips that barely ghosted his own once…

“Now boys, THAT is not allowed in the hospital,” –came a reproachful tone.

Mohinder’s spine shot up straight and he looked to the door as if he’d been caught red-handed. “We were talking!” he blurted, somehow always giving his (lame) excuses immediately.

The nurse, a stout woman who had surely neither taken nor given any bull her entire life, gave her most perfectly crafted ‘Yeah right.’ look to the two of them. “That’s how it usually starts, honey, but these beds aren’t for two,” she reminded them. Mohinder felt himself blushing intensely, stepping back from both the woman approaching with a tray of antiseptics and the bed.

Sylar had a silly grin on his face. “You’ve caught us,” he admitted mischievously. “I try to resist all the time, but it’s like he has some kind of _power_ over me,” the man said innocently while the nurse unabashedly lifted his shirt and removed his gauze.

The woman didn’t really seem to feel she had anything to be bashful about. Mohinder supposed that was a characteristic of all nurses, really. He had considered being a real doctor once, a great man in the field of medicine like so many of his countrymen here in America. But he felt more at ease with a microscope than with an injured stranger. Mohinder wasn’t sure he could ever be the deliverer of bad news to some poor, dying individual. In truth, he hadn’t even been able to admit to himself the possibility of Molly dying. He simply didn’t have a strong enough heart to hold the lives of others in his hands every single day. Nurses may not have been the actual harbingers of death, but they had to watch suffering from a closer distance than even doctors. Mohinder supposed this was why they had a type of fortitude against all things he could not even imagine. He respected them, and like all wise individuals, feared them a little too.

            “Son, I’ve seen enough strange things in this hospital, and a couple of gay men are the least of my worries. I just don’t want to have to change the bed sheets twice if you get my drift. So keep it PG on my shift,” the woman lectured loudly, applying the antiseptics to the stitches and ignoring the way Sylar flinched before she taped down some fresh bandages.

            “Yes ma’am,” Sylar said obediently, watching her closely as she moved and quirking his head to the side slightly. Trying to figure her out, perhaps. There had to be something that made her tick like that, he was probably thinking, along similar lines as Mohinder had. But the trials and tribulations of the medical field were slightly beyond Sylar’s realm of experience.

            Mohinder rubbed a hand over his face, dark cheeks still burning with color. He was sure that of all things he might die of in this hospital, it was going to be embarrassment. He didn’t _like_ getting caught in compromising positions with Sylar- so he told himself- they just seemed to be occurring at the most inopportune times. Mohinder frowned at himself. When _was_ an opportune time to be a compromising position with Sylar? He was definitely out of his mind.

            “There we go,” the nurse said with a note of satisfaction, giving Sylar a little pat on the side. She shuffled towards the exit. “Now you two can get back to your ‘talking.’” She gave a playful snort to herself as she walked out and closed the door behind her.

            A long silence passed between the two men.

            Mohinder was the one to finally take in a deep breath, bury his innermost feelings, and brace himself for one of the hardest decisions in his life. “…No killing?”

            “No killing.”

            “You’ll have to listen to anything I say.”

            “You’ll have to get me anything I need.”

            “If you try to steal my work, if you harm _anyone_ , I _will_ kill you.”

            “I’ll look forward to it.”

            A shiver traveled down Mohinder’s spine that made his hairs stand on edge at the very roots. “I… need to make a few calls.”

            Sylar’s gaze became sharp. “I saidyou can’t turn me in!”

            “Not everything in this world is about you!” Mohinder snapped abruptly in return. “Now sit there and pretend you’re a normal amnesiac so I can take care of this and get you the hell out of here before someone realizes what a snake you are!” Mohinder turned away quickly, pulling the door open forcefully and walking out with just as rough a slam.

            A slow smile spread across Sylar’s face. Temper temper.

 

            _You’re an idiot. What could have possibly possessed you to think this was a good idea?_ Mohinder berated himself all the way back to the main wing of the building, heart feeling heavy. Their ‘deal’ was preying on Mohinder’s mind only minutes after it had been made; he had invited disaster into his home and he had done so for some vaguely formed idea of instilling humanity into a serial killer. It sounded more irrational and stupid every time he turned it over in his head.

            Mohinder leaned over the main desk to grab the receptionist’s attention. “Excuse me, I have two friends who came in yesterday, late. I’d like to inquire as to their conditions?”

            “Names?”

            “Parkman and Hawkins.”

            Mohinder should have felt relieved to hear that Niki’s husband was stable and Officer Parkman was expected to pull through. He should have, but he couldn’t find the strength to muster up joy, only empty relief. He thought briefly about whether or not Molly and Niki might still be in the hospital, but it seemed unlikely. Even if Niki wanted to stay, the children probably needed to be taken care of. That was to where Mohinder’s mind wandered.

            Stepping out of the building entirely, Mohinder bypassed the crowds of people on the New York streets. The way they pushed and nudged into him on this winter’s morning made him feel invisible. But that was alright, he reasoned. If he didn’t exist, they would never know what he had done.

            Finally a payphone was in sight and Mohinder dug into his pocket for the scrap of paper that had been given to him the night before. He rummaged for a quarter or two and was quick to put in both. Two or three rings rolled nervously past before Mohinder was met with the voice he sought.

            “Yes?”

            “Mr. Bennet? This is Mohinder Suresh.”

            “Ah yes, hello Mr. Suresh. How are you?” the man asked, not sounding thrilled, but not disappointed either. These were serious times, after all.

            Mohinder absently glanced to either side of him into the crowds, as if that might give him a better clue as to how he was doing. “I’m fine, Mr. Bennet. I was hoping I could speak to you for a few moments. It’s about Molly.”

            “I exchanged numbers with Mrs. Sanders last night. She tells me you sent Molly home with her?”

            “Yes, I did. I couldn’t very well keep her at my apartment and I… well, I’m afraid I can’t do the things a mother can,” he admitted a bit softer. This was what he told himself he had to do. This was the only way to keep Molly safe, keep Molly happy. To give her a chance. In spite of his own feelings, this was what Mohinder had to decide. “This is… about that, actually.”

            “What can I do for you?”

            “We talked briefly last night. About having Molly stay with me. About the chance for adoption, since your former company seized the paperwork.”

            “And your thoughts?” Bennet inquired.

            Mohinder hesitated for a second.

“I can’t do it.”

            There was stunned silence in return. “You… can’t? Why not? You sounded so positive last night.”

  _“Will you take care of me from now on, Mohinder?” Molly asked so innocently as they watched the ambulance carry Officer Parkman away in haste._

  _“Is that what you’d like, Molly? To stay with me?” Mohinder said in return with a soft smile on his face and a comforting hand upon her soft brown hair._

  _She nodded without hesitation and with a smile that had been so special. She hugged onto his arm. “I trust you. You’d make a good dad.”_

            “I’ve had time to think- I just can’t, Mr. Bennet. I’d be a terrible choice. I don’t know the first thing about children, especially not American ones. I’m not even a citizen here. I have my research and… Molly’s so young, and I don’t even have an apartment for two…”

            Through the contemplative silence, Mohinder was sure he could envision just what the frown of confusion on Bennet’s face looked like. “Arrangements can be made, Mr. Suresh…”

            “I know… And I thank you for all you’ve offered to do for her since our first miscommunication. But the truth of the matter is… I’m not ready. I can’t protect her. I’d be… a terrible father. Molly needs- no, deserves- someone better than I. Please understand that.”

            The low sound of a reluctant sigh was heard on the other end. “Alright. I’ll talk with Mrs. Sanders and we’ll discuss some of our options later. For now I’ve put them in a safe hotel in the area. Claire has been sent somewhere safe too, for now, but I’m staying in the city for a while. If you need to contact me, you’ve got this number.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Bennet. I’m grateful for your friendship.” Mohinder said honestly.

            “You’re welcome, Mr. Suresh. Goodbye.”

            Mohinder held the receiver at his ear for a long time after the tone of disconnection sounded. He waited for the tightness in his throat to pass before he carefully hung up the receiver. As he turned in the direction he had come, a blustery winter wind tore through the pedestrians on the street. Mohinder rubbed his jacketless arms. The icy wind prickled at his skin, and he reasoned that the cold was causing the burning tears that threatened in his eyes. This time, he did not hurry back to Mercy General.

 


End file.
